Red Means Stop, Green Means Go
by Sennalyn
Summary: Hank has a run in with a busload of hippies. Complete.


**Red Means Stop, Green Means Go**

* * *

_Disclaimer: Emergency! and it's characters are property of Mark VII and Universal Studios. Original characters are mine. No copyright infringement is intended, and I didn't make any money from writing this story. All medical errors are mine and mine alone. This is just for fun, so enjoy!_

_We're An American Band_ © 1973 written by Don Brewer and performed by Grand Funk Railroad.

* * *

Hank Stanley grabbed his jacket off the back of the kitchen chair where he'd set it the night before, and threw it over his shoulder, whistling as he headed for the door to embark on his day.

"Tori! I'm off!" He called. "See you tomorrow morning!"

He had just reached the door, when his wife caught up to him.

"Wait! Hank!"

Victoria Stanley wrapped her arms around her husband's neck and pulled him away from the door, nuzzling her face against his neck.

"Don't leave yet," she begged, nibbling on his earlobe. "Please!"

"Tor, c'mon now. I have to get to work!" Hank said, chuckling. "It wouldn't do . . . for the . . . the Captain to be . . . to be. . . ummm . . . laa . . .mmmm."

His wife's trail of kisses up and down his neck and chin finally reached his mouth. Hank dropped his jacket on the floor and wrapped his arms around Tori's waist.

Finally breaking the kiss, Hank said, "Tori, I have to . . ."

Tori reclaimed Hank's mouth again, silencing his protest.

Reluctantly, Hank tried again. "Really, Tori, I _have_ to get to work! Please! I have to set a good example for my men! Already this month Kelly's been late twice, Marco just barely got in on time once last week, and Gage . . . well, I'm beginning to think I'm going to have to go and pick him up myself!"

"Oh, please, Hank, just a few more minutes! Please! You're always _early_ to work! Just _one_ day you can be a little late!"

Tori's trail of kisses began a southward migration, her fingers making quick work of shirt buttons and a belt buckle, and before long, Captain Stanley was once again at the sweet mercy of his wife.

Hank whistled loudly, trying to keep up with the tune on the radio, but found it difficult, since he didn't know the song. His eldest daughter, Amber, had borrowed Hank's old pick-up truck, affectionately known as the Beater, the day before, tuning the radio to one of the popular rock-and-roll channels. She had forgotten to turn it back to the easier-on-the-ears oldies station Hank preferred. Usually it would annoy him, but today the captain was in far too good a mood to care what was on the radio, and he left it just as it was. Besides, it was a pretty good song.

_We're an American band  
We're an American band  
We're coming to your town  
We'll help you party down  
We're an American band, hey._

Hank noticed the light at the intersection had been red for some time, so he slowed down only marginally, knowing it could go green at any moment, and he wouldn't have to stop. It was a little game he liked to play - avoid coming to a complete stop at the red light. He didn't know why he did it, he just did. He liked seeing if he could slow the Beater just enough to keep from having to stop at the white line. Hank glanced at the side street's lights to see the yellow light had just illuminated. It would only be a few seconds before the side streets went red, and his light went green. He slowed a bit more, but was still rolling. He stuck his foot on the clutch, and yanked the old truck into a lower gear so it wouldn't stall when he hit the gas again. Only a couple more seconds now . . .

_Green light._

Hank lifted off the clutch and pressed down the gas pedal, and the Beater accelerated forward smoother than it had in a long time. Hank grinned, happy that he "won" the game, and also that the Beater was driving better than ever. He wasn't even sure he'd get the old truck moving again after it died on him just two months ago, but his neighbour, Jack, was a mechanic, and a talented one as well. A quick tune-up and the replacement of a couple of belts and spark plugs, and the old Beater fired right up. It had worked almost perfectly since then, but had never been _this_ smooth.

_Maybe the old Beater's having a good day, too,_ Hank mused, recalling his wife's insistent expression of her love fifteen minutes earlier. He was just giggling to himself over the absurd notion of the Beater and Tori's sky blue 1958 Edsel making time together in the driveway when he reached the middle of the intersection. He never saw the psychedelically painted Volkswagen bus run the red light.

Johnny Gage's dirty white Rover squealed into the back parking lot of Station 51 with only moments to spare. The already frazzled fireman sprinted into the station wishing to God he would have put his uniform on at home. Ducking into the locker room, Johnny changed clothes in record time, and headed across the engine bay towards the kitchen, hoping for a quick swallow of coffee before Captain Stanley called roll. He breezed around the corner into the kitchen, very nearly colliding with C-shift's Captain Hookraider.

"Oh, sorry Cap'n Hook . . .er ah . . .raider. Captain Hookraider," he floundered, thrown off guard as much by the man's presence as by the dark look on the man's face.

"Gage," the captain growled. "You're late. And, you need a haircut!"

"Yee . . . ah . . yeah. I . . .I mean . . . yes, sir," Johnny stammered, trying to decide which of the captain's complaints to address first. "Sorry, sir, I . . . ah, tried taking a short cut to work, but there was an accident, and I . . . ah . . . stopped to ask if I could help, being a paramedic and all, and the cop, I think his name was Ralph, or Roger, or something like that, he said, no thanks, and, Cap, I don't think he believed me when I told him I was a para. . ."

"Enough, Gage!" Captain Hookraider shouted just inches from the paramedic's face. "I don't _care_ why you're late. Fact is, you _are_, and as such have pulled latrine duty for this shift."

Before he could stop himself, Chet Kelly let forth a shout of joy, and received a glare from C-shift's overly strict captain in return.

"Don't think that because I've given latrine duty to Gage, I can't come up with something just as unpleasant for you, Kelly!"

"Yes, sir," Chet said as contritely as he could, thankful his bushy moustache concealed most of his grin.

Despite having attracted some unwanted attention from the notorious Captain Hook, Chet could not stop himself from migrating towards the captain and Johnny, just to see what his pigeon would do next. He didn't want to miss out on the fun. He knew from eavesdropping on conversations in the locker room, that C-shift had had a long, hard 24-hours, and figured Captain Hoodraider would be pretty annoyed at having to stick around because they were still one captain short of a full A-shift. He also knew that, despite already being in trouble, Johnny would likely stick his foot in his mouth again, soon.

"Ah, 'suse me, Cap?" Johnny piped up, confirming Chet's assumption. "What are _you_ still doing here? I mean . . . ah, where's Captain Stanley?"

Captain Hookraider finally stepped back, allowing Johnny to enter the kitchen, which the young man did, and headed straight for the coffee pot as he waited for the captain's answer. Captain Hookraider looked around at the expectant faces of four other men, none of whom had had the audacity to ask the question themselves, and cleared his throat.

"Honestly, men, I don't . . ."

The blaring of the klaxons interrupted the captain, and every man dropped what he was doing and raced into the apparatus bay.

_Station 51. Auto accident. Intersection of Henderson and Albert. Henderson and Albert. Time out: 08:15._

Captain Hookraider frowned as he wrote down the information, and acknowledged the call: "Station 51, KMG-365."

He handed a slip of paper with the information he'd written down on it to Roy DeSoto, and took the copy with him to the engine, silently cursing Hank Stanley for being late. He and his men on C-shift had just endured a grueling 24-hour shift, and the absolutely last thing Captain Hookraider wanted to do was deal with yet another car accident, see more broken, bloody bodies, and try to comfort another emotionally shattered survivor. The man wanted nothing more than to go home and unwind, forget about everything he saw and smelled and heard the day before, and tell his wife and children how much he loved them. He knew he didn't do it as often as he should, but after what he and his crew had seen yesterday . . .well, the man vowed he'd be a better father and a better husband from then on. He would even try to be a better captain to his men. Now, as they headed towards what would be his fourth MVA in twenty-four hours, Captain Hookraider's gut twisted in anxious anticipation of what awaited them.

_God! Would it have killed Hank Stanley to have been on time today?_

"Hey, Roy?" Johnny turned to his partner in the cab of the squad. "This MVA, I'm pretty sure it's the one I stopped and tried to help at this morning."

"Oh, yeah?" Roy asked, not taking his eyes from the road. "It's funny they didn't call us out sooner."

"Yeah, the cop said he had everything under control," Johnny continued. "I _told_ him I was a paramedic with the fire department, and I could help these people, but he just blew me off! Can you believe that? He could've easily called it into dispatch, and told them there was already a 'medic on the scene! That way, not only would those people have had help fifteen minutes ago, but I might not have been in trouble with Capt'n Hook!"

Johnny paused in his rant a moment, contemplating hard on whatever notion had just entered his head and displaced his previous thoughts. Roy gave his partner a sideways glance, wondering what he was coming up with next.

"Roy, where do you suppose Captain Stanley is?" Johnny finally asked. "I mean, he's _never_ late! I wonder if he's sick, or something?"

"I don't know, Junior," Roy responded, his eyes once again on the road in front of him. "But I imagine he'll feel pretty weird walking into an empty station house!"

Johnny grunted a reply and turned to face forward, falling silent.

Moments later, the squad and engine of Station 51 pulled up onto the scene of the accident. Johnny and Roy leapt out of the squad, and began grabbing equipment out of the compartments. Carrying their loads over to the smashed vehicles, Johnny passed by the police officer who earlier had refused his help.

"We meet again," Johnny quipped, noting the nameplate on the man's chest read 'Rodgers.'

The officer's eyes widened in surprised recognition, but said nothing to the shaggy-haired young man, whom he would never have suspected as being a civil servant, turning instead to speak to Captain Hookraider, and A-shift's engineer Mike Stoker, who stood beside his temporary captain.

"According to witnesses, the pick-up truck was just about halfway through the intersection when the VW bus blew the light," Officer Rodgers explained.

The paramedics didn't stay to listen to the rest of the conversation, but set down their equipment in a central location, and split up: Johnny went to check the WV bus, Roy to see to the victim in the pick-up truck. Chet and fellow hoseman Marco Lopez each had a reel line, and were washing the gasoline and other fluids leaking from both vehicles off the road.

The impact of the bus to the driver's side of the pick-up sent the latter spinning, and finally falling over onto its side, and sliding over to rest against a phone pole. The bus also spun and tipped over, and was lying in the middle off the opposite lane just beyond the intersection. As Johnny approached it, the back doors opened, and six colourfully garbed people and a cloud of smoke began spilling out.

"Hey, now," Johnny said as he approached them. "Hang on there. Is everyone okay here?"

"Whoa, man! What a ride!" One wild haired man replied as he swayed back and forth on his feet, looking up at the sky as though he'd never seen it before.

"Are you okay, sir?" Johnny asked.

The man started to wander away, and Johnny grabbed him by one of his voluminous sleeves, and pulled the man slightly towards him.

"Are you okay, sir?" He asked again, carefully articulating each word. Now that the man was closer, Johnny could see his eyes were glassy, and the pupils were slightly dilated. He also recognized the odour wafting off the man's clothing and hair: marijuana. Johnny frowned.

_Great! Just great! A bunch of stupid hippies get high at eight in the morning and then go smash in some poor sucker on his way to work!_

The paramedic continued his silent rant as he gathered the apparently uninjured hippies together so he could examine them. Although he was certain they were all okay - just flying higher than kites - he was professionally obligated to make sure they were uninjured before they were arrested.

He quickly glanced over to where Roy, Chet, and Marco were gathered beside the pick-up. Because it was still lying on its side, only the underside of the vehicle was visible, and Johnny guessed they were discussing the best way to get into the rescue the victim. The front of the truck was hanging slightly over the ditch, which was not too deep, but still deep enough to make attempting a rescue from the front too difficult and too dangerous. Trying to get the victim, who likely needed to be strapped to a backboard, out the small back window would be too awkward. Going in through the passenger side was about their only option.

Johnny turned back to his patients, all of whom were gathered together trying to sing "Stairway to Heaven," and the paramedic shook his head with disgust. He hadn't heard any communication between Roy and the victim in the pickup, yet, and assumed the person was unconscious.

_God only knows how that guy is,_ Johnny mused. _They hit him on the driver's side, then he spun around and flipped over on that side, so the guy's whole left side will be messed up. Just a matter of how bad. Probably has a head injury, too. No telling how bad that is, yet, either. And, here these stupid idiots are higher than kites and singing stupid songs, _

" . . . and not even getting the damn lyrics right!"

Johnny didn't realize he'd spoken aloud until the young police officer beside him, whose badge read 'Henderson,' snorted a laugh. Johnny gave him a mild glare, and stood up.

"These guys are fine, I'm sure," he told Officer Henderson, his displeasure obvious in his voice. "They're just high. I couldn't even find any bumps or bruises on them."

"Yeah, well, they probably just bounced around in there like a bunch of those rubber space balls the kids all play with," Officer Henderson said, and began gathering the still-singing group of hippies to put them in the paddy wagon that would transport them to the local jail.

"Be sure to tell the folks at the jail to have a doctor from the infirmary check on these guys a little later," Johnny instructed the officer. "They might have injuries not yet noticeable due to their, ah, altered state."

Officer Henderson nodded, snickering, and Johnny allowed himself one half-hearted chuckle at his own witty description of the hippies' condition, before kneeling down again to gather his equipment, and heading over to help Roy.

"JOHNNY!"

Johnny rose and spun at Roy's urgent tone, abandoning the equipment to join his partner. Roy stood atop a ladder leaning against the side of the truck, Chet stood down below, steadying the ladder. Marco stood beside Chet looking slightly frantic. Roy had a crowbar jammed in between the door and the frame, and was just popping the door open when Johnny arrived.

"Man, I didn't even recognize the truck," Chet was saying to Marco. He looked from a worried looking Marco back up to Roy.

"Madre di Dios!" Marco exclaimed under his breath, and quickly crossed himself.

Johnny gave them both a confused look before shouting up to his partner. "Roy, what've you got?"

Roy had just managed to give the door a good shove, the rusty hinges finally giving way to allow the door to fall flat against the truck. He stuck his head into the cab and called, "Cap? Hank, are you okay?"

Johnny's mouth gaped open as he registered what Roy had said.

_Cap? Hank? Captain Stanley is in there?_

"Marco, grab the equipment over there," Johnny directed, and Marco, relieved to finally be doing something constructive, left without hesitation.

Captain Hookraider and Mike Stoker headed towards the group of firefighters leaving Officer Rodgers to interview more witnesses. The captain had heard enough. He was disgusted that one more life, one more family, was screwed up because of the careless actions of another. It made him sad and angry at the same time. He remembered all the broken, crushed, and bloody bodies he and his men had pulled out of twisted pieces of metal that no longer resembled cars the day before, and his stomach turned again.

_Please, God, I'd like just one shift - just one - where I didn't have to see any blood. Just one. No blood, no broken bones, no blank, staring eyes. Please, God! Just one shift with straightforward fires. No victims. Just burning buildings. That's all I ask. _

Hook finally reached the rest of the A-shift crew, and inquired about the victim. His jaw fell open and his heart leaped into his throat when Johnny said, "It's Captain Stanley in there."

Captain Hookraider immediately regretted every evil thought he'd had about his fellow captain earlier, and spoke a quick, silent prayer heavenward on the man's behalf.

Meanwhile, Roy had carefully lowered himself inside the cab of the Beater, and, balancing as best he could while fighting gravity and the cramped conditions, he pressed his fingers against the unconscious man's neck. Feeling the faint but steady pulse beneath his fingers, Roy let out the breath he'd been holding, and closed his eyes, sending up a silent prayer of thanks behind Captain Hookraider's request for divine intervention. Turning slightly, he lifted his head to call out to he crewmates below, and was startled to come face to face with his partner.

"Roy?"

Roy smiled slightly. "He's alive."

Johnny blew out a breath of his own, and shouted the good news to a very relieved group of firefighters below. Turning back to his partner, he asked. "What've we got?"

"I can't really tell," Roy replied with a shrug. "He's laying on the side of impact, so I can't tell if they're any broken bones, or not, yet. I'm guessing there are, though. He's bleeding pretty bad from his head; I'm sure he's got some head trauma, but I can't tell how bad, yet. I can't rouse him. I'm gonna need a C-collar, backboard, the BP cuff and some bandages."

Johnny nodded and hollered the request down to the other men. Moments later, he was handing the BP cuff, stethoscope, and C-collar into his partner. Roy gently applied the collar, wincing a bit as his right hand came away covered in blood.

_Man, that must be a pretty nasty laceration,_ Roy thought wiping his hand on his pants. _The fact that he's not waking up is starting to worry me._

"Could you hand me a bandage?" He asked, holding his hand up, and having several bandages placed in it. Unable to tell exactly where the blood was coming from, Roy just applied several pads to the left side of Hank's head, and lifted his hand up again. Without having to ask, a roll of gauze was placed in it, and he proceeded to carefully wrap Hank's head.

"You got vitals, yet, Roy?" Johnny asked.

"Just a minute." Roy finished wrapping Hank's head, then picked up the BP cuff and stethoscope, and took the Captain's blood pressure, and retook the pulse and respiration rates. He shouted the numbers to his partner.

All in all, the numbers were not _too_ bad. Captain Stanley's vitals were a bit low, but not immediately life threatening. The sooner they got him out of the destroyed truck and into the more advanced care of Rampart Emergency, of course, the better. Roy just wished his captain would wake up.

"Heads up!"

Roy jerked up out of his reverie to see Johnny starting to lower the backboard in to him. Roy took it, and carefully maneuvered it inside.

"How's he doing?" Johnny asked. "Is he coming around, yet?"

"No, not yet," Roy answered. "But hopefully he'll react when I move him onto the board." He turned back to his patient and added to himself, _I hope so, anyway. _

Roy worked carefully to position the backboard, and with John's help, gently moved Hank onto it, and secured the straps. As if he'd heard Roy's unspoken request, Hank moaned a couple times as he was moved onto backboard, then strapped to it, but did not answer when the paramedic called to him. When Hank was securely strapped to the back board, Roy again took vitals, finding them to be slightly elevated, but still stable.

Through the well coordinated effort of all of Station 51's crew, Hank Stanley was quickly excavated from the cab of the damaged truck. Johnny and Marco carried him over to where the ambulance was waiting, and gently set the back board on the ground. Roy hurried over just as Johnny was contacting Rampart. The senior paramedic dropped to his knees on the other side of the patient, and began searching for broken bones, wincing as he encountered several breaks along the man's left side. A couple of Roy's probing searches elicited moans of pain from the man.

"Cap?" Roy called, leaning in close to Hank. "Cap, can you hear me?"

Hank moaned again, and tried to move his head. Unable to, his panic rose, and he opened his eyes, blinking several times in the bright light. Seeing his distress, Roy quickly called Chet over to sit beside the Captain's head and block the sun from his face.

"Cap?" Roy inquired again. "Captain Stanley?"

Hank blinked and looked up into the blurry face of Roy DeSoto. At least he thought it was Roy. Sure sounded like him. He decided to ask, just to be sure.

"Roy?"

"Yeah, Cap," Roy answered with a huge grin that was evident not only on his face, but in his voice as well. "I'm here. We're all here. Everything's gonna be okay."

"Hurt . . . everywhere . . . ah . . . what happened?" Hank asked. He wanted to rub his temple to ease the pounding pain there, but he couldn't move his right arm, and his left arm hurt too much to even try. His left leg hurt, too. In fact the whole left side of his body was one big throbbing, shooting pain. He tried to look down to see why he couldn't move his right arm, but he couldn't move his head, either, which he decided was fine considering how badly it ached.

"What do you remember?" Roy asked, as Johnny started the IV in Hank's right arm.

"Going to work," Hank responded after a moment's thought. "Tori . . ."

Roy and Johnny exchanged a quick panicked glance. There was no evidence that anyone else had been in the truck, they were certain.

"Was your wife with you, Cap?" Johnny asked.

"Mmmm? Went to work . . . Tori."

Hank frowned as he tried to think. He could see Tori in his head, her face just inches from his. Her toothpaste-scented breath warm on his cheek, her soft lips on his, her eyes pleading, Tori pleading, _Please, don't go . . ._

"Tori," Hank mumbled, closing his eyes. The lids were so heavy, it was hard to keep them opened. "Kissed her goodbye. Went to work. Didn't want to go."

The paramedics looked at each other again.

"His wife's at home," Johnny said unnecessarily, then handed Roy a splint for the captain's leg.

Soon, Captain Stanley's broken bones were splinted, and he was restrapped to the backboard, and gently lifted and strapped onto the gurney. One by one, his men stopped by to offer words of encouragement as he was wheeled towards the waiting ambulance, and finally Captain Hookraider approached his colleague.

"Hang in there, Hank," he said. "Don't worry about a thing. I'll take care of everything."

"Thanks, Hook," Hank mumbled. "I owe you . . ."

Not knowing what else to say, Hook nodded and stepped back. The paramedics and ambulance attendants got the injured man situated inside the ambulance. Johnny handed the biophone in to Roy, who would ride in with Captain Stanley. When everyone was settled inside, Johnny closed the doors, slapping them twice, and stood back as the ambulance drove away. Chet and Marco had already gathered up the rest of the paramedics' equipment, and put everything back in the squad. Johnny turned to the squad, his eyes landing on his temporary captain. The man's face was strained, and the young paramedic felt a twinge of compassion for the normally disliked captain. He'd already had a full 24-hour shift, and now seeing a fellow captain so badly injured, Johnny was sure the man was beyond the point of mental and physical exhaustion as well as very worried.

"Cap?" he asked. "Are you alright?"

Hook looked over at the paramedic, and gave him a weak smile. "Yeah, Gage, I'm fine. Just tired, and worried. About Hank."

"Yeah," Johnny agreed. "We all are, sir, but he's stable, and he regained consciousness and was coherent, which is a good sign. I think he'll be just fine."

Hook nodded, lost in thought. Johnny turned away, but stopped, and turned once again to the Captain. Hook noted the man's hesitation, and raised a hand to silence the paramedic.

"I'm fine, Gage," he said. "In light of what's happened here, I'm going to stand the station down for a few hours at least. We'll all go into the hospital to check on Hank . . . ah, Captain Stanley, before returning to base."

By now Mike, Marco, and Chet had joined Johnny, and listened intently to the captain.

"If anyone feels they're not able to continue with their shift, let me know, and I'll call for replacements. It will not be a reflection on you at all," the Captain quickly amended. "I understand completely how difficult this must be for all of you."

Looking around he noted the relief on the men's faces, and nodded. "Let's go."

Mike, Marco, and Chet headed to the engine, while Johnny turned and jogged towards the squad. Hook absently wondered if his temporary crew had heard their captain's use of his nick-name. If they even noticed, they said nothing, and Hook guessed they probably cared very little at that moment. As he climbed aboard the engine to follow the ambulance and squad to Rampart, the captain wondered fleetingly what the men would think if they knew the name they called him behind his back as a joke at best, insult at worst, was really a friendly nick-name his fellow captains had given him years ago. He'd gone by just Hook long before that. His father's Army buddies had even called him "Lil Hook" to his father's "Big Hook" when the fire station captain was just a small boy. His father, a highly decorated Army General, was long dead now, but his teachings of strict discipline, his love of order, and his ability to lead with a firm hand but gentle heart remained alive in his son, Captain Hookraider.

It never bothered Hook that the men whispered about him in the shadows and feared him. That they probably hated him as well hurt a bit, but the young men these days were, for the most part, lazy slackers, and Hook truly believed they could benefit from his firm leadership. Right now, Hook felt like anything but the strict fire station leader he prided himself as being, but he refused to give in to the weariness and sudden depression that threatened to overwhelm him. The men temporarily under his command had just, with painful precision and care, and the utmost professionalism, extricated their seriously injured captain from a crumpled, twisted hunk of metal that was once the man's pick-up truck. They might appear to be holding up okay, but the captain knew they had to be shell shocked, and needed him to stay strong, at least until they heard that Hank Stanley would make a full recovery and would return to them.

The stark, multi-story building that was Rampart General Hospital loomed before them. Hook straightened in is seat and sighed, sending another silent prayer heavenward as the engine turned into the hospital's parking lot.

Johnny didn't wait for the engine to park and the others to disembark before heading into the Emergency entrance. He looked around for a familiar face, but saw none. He headed straight for the nurses' station, wondering which treatment room Roy and Captain Stanley were in. He contemplated peeking into each room until he found them, but decided that would be a rude intrusion to whatever patients and doctors were in there, so he stood fidgeting instead, flicking the HT from one hand to the other. He was soon joined by the equally anxious engine crew, who all began asking him questions he couldn't answer.

"They're still working on him," Johnny said. "The doctor will come out and let us know as soon as he can."

After only a couple minutes standing around, Chet couldn't stand it anymore, and asked, "What's taking so long?"

Captain Hookraider glared at Chet as his colleagues tried to calm him down, but understood and shared the man's sentiments. He had known Hank Stanley for many years now, and admired and respected the man. He knew these men felt the same way about their captain, and beyond that, they even_ liked_ him. Hook envied that just a bit. He wondered if his own men would be as concerned over his well-being if he was injured, and decided while there might be some concern, it wouldn't come close to the level Hank's men were exhibiting now. Despite wanting to appear strong to the men, Hook found he was unable to fight the exhaustion and throbbing head ache that was starting up, and leaned his shoulder against the wall, squeezing the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger, sighing heavily.

Mike, Marco and Chet were huddled in a tight cluster off to the Captain's right, and didn't notice his actions, but the paramedic did notice, and decided to question the Captain further.

Before he could, however, Dr. Brackett, Dixie McCall, and Roy exited Treatment Room 4, and approached the group. Several sets of expectant eyes fell on the doctor and paramedic.

"Captain Stanley is doing very well, and I anticipate he will make a full recovery," Dr. Brackett announced, deciding to give them the good news first.

Sighs and smiles of relief told him the decision was a good one. Captain Hookraider sank into an uncomfortable plastic chair standing along side the wall and placed his head in his hands. After a moment, Dr. Brackett continued.

"He does have some broken bones, however, a moderate concussion, and a deep scalp laceration, but all-in-all, he's a very lucky man."

Roy went to stand by his partner as Dr. Brackett spoke. He'd noticed the young man was intently watching their temporary captain, and looking at the man himself, noticed how much more weary he seemed than at the scene.

"He doesn't look very good," Roy commented quietly to Johnny.

"I know," Johnny whispered back. "He said he was fine at the scene, but I really don't think so."

"I agree."

"He's stood the station down a few hours till we could find out more about Captain Stanley," Johnny continued. "He said if anyone needed to go home, he'd call in a replacement. Said it wouldn't be a reflection on anyone, considering."

Roy nodded thoughtfully. "Personally, I think _he's_ the one who needs a replacement. He's already had a twenty-four hour shift, and it was a pretty nasty one, from what I gathered from C-shift as they were leaving. Now, seeing a fellow Captain seriously injured like this . . ."

Roy shrugged and let the sentence hang, and Johnny nodded his agreement.

"That's what I was thinking, too, but I didn't get a chance to say anything to him here, yet. I was just about to when you all came out."

"Well, there's no time like the present," Roy said.

Johnny nodded his agreement, and the two approached Captain Hookraider.

"Cap?" Roy started, but Hook held up his hand to silence the man.

"I know what you're going to say, DeSoto," he said. "What you're both going to say: I should call in for a replacement for myself, and go home."

Johnny and Roy both smiled slightly.

"Well, yeah, Cap, that was what we were thinking," Johnny admitted.

The weary captain gave the two paramedics a weak smile. "Well, boys, I intend to do just that. I admit, yesterday was rough, but not so bad that I couldn't pull another shift if I had to. However, under the circumstances," the captain sighed. "Well, I just don't have it in me today. I'm going to call Hank's wife, now that I know more about his condition, and I will stay here until she arrives. Then, I'll call headquarters and find someone to finish Hank's shift. Once Mrs. Stanley is settled in here, I'll go home."

"An excellent idea, Captain," Dr. Brackett said, smiling. The physician had approached the small group intending to insist Captain Hookraider go home, and was pleased to find the man was already going to do that. "I know you and your crew had a rough time yesterday," Brackett continued with a sudden frown. "I saw your paramedics several times over the last twenty-four hours, and heard first hand what the rest of the crew was left dealing with. That was bad enough, but with Hank's accident on top of all that, well, I'm just glad to hear I'm not going to have to fight you on handing this crew over to someone else and heading home."

Hook smiled. "No, Dr. Brackett, there's no fight left in me. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to make a phone call."

Victoria Stanley grabbed the discarded bath towel off the bathroom floor, and used it to clear away the condensation that covered the mirror, blurring the reflective surface. She looked at her reflection a moment, touching various parts of her face, and watching her mirror image do the same. She was still beautiful, wasn't she? Her husband had said so a short time ago, as she looked up at him after expressing her love to him one last time before sending him off to work.

_You're so beautiful, Tori! God, you're so amazing!_

She smiled, and her mirror image smiled back. She was startled to find she thought the face in the mirror still looked pretty despite the sudden arrival of fine wrinkles around her eyes.

_To hell with what the magazines say about youth and beauty,_ Tori thought. _If my husband thinks I'm beautiful, then by God, I am!_

She unwound the towel from around her head, and let the damp hair fall freely around her shoulders, humming to herself distractedly as she used the towel to gently massage the tresses dry. Thoughts of her husband returning home a little less that twenty-four hours from now flickered in her head, and she smiled.

The ringing of the phone interrupted Tori's musings. Somewhat annoyed at having her daydream disturbed, Tori took her time getting to the phone, then stuck her tongue out at it childishly before picking it up.

"Hello?"

"Mrs. Stanley?" A male voice inquired. "Mrs. Hank Stanley?"

Tori frowned. She didn't recognize the voice, yet Tori thought it sounded official, not at all like a salesman. Glancing at the clock on the wall, she realized her husband had been at work almost two hours, and a chill ran down her spine. A lot could happen in two hours.

"Yes," she said hesitantly, "This is Victoria Stanley. Hank is my husband."

"Mrs. Stanley, this is Captain James Hookraider, from the LA County Fire Department."

Tori leaned back against the wall, and slowly slid down to the cold tiled floor as her legs turned to jelly. Her mind raced through the different scenarios: fires, collapsing buildings, unstable abandoned mines the kids were so fond of exploring. Shootings and riots were becoming more rampant, and firefighters were not immune to the rising violence. Tori sucked in a shuddering breath as she settled herself on the floor. Her worst fear was being realized. Her husband was dead.

"Mrs. Stanley, I'm sorry to inform you that your husband . . . that Hank . . . was involved in an automobile accident this morning, and was injured," Captain Hookraider explained.

Tori's mind reeled. A car accident? But, how? Hank was at work. He couldn't be in a car accident. Did the engine crash? What about the other men on the engine: Mike, Marco and Chet?

"Mrs. Stanley?"

"Yes, yes, I'm here."

"Hank is here at Rampart Emergency. He was hurt pretty bad . . ." the man on the other end of the phone hesitated. "but, he's gonna be alright, ma'am. The doctor has assured me of that. But, he is hurt, and he needs you here."

"Yes, I'll be right there," Tori said, her mind clearing suddenly.

"Are you alright to drive, Ma'am? I could have a cruiser come pick you up . . ."

"No," Tori responded, standing now; the pillar of strength her husband needed her to be. "No, thank you. I'm okay to drive. I'll meet you there."

Hook hung up the phone at the nurse's station and hung his head sighing. He'd never had to make a call like that before, and he'd botched it. He just knew it. A soft warm hand touched his, and he looked up into the kind, gentle eyes of Rampart Emergency's Head Nurse Dixie McCall. She patted his hand and smiled.

"That was a hard call to make, I know. You did good."

Hook smiled slightly, and chuckled a bit at his predicament. Here he was a seasoned Fire Department Captain, and he was taking comfort from an emergency room nurse.

"Thank you, Miss McCall," He said, then returned to his seat to wait for his colleague's wife.

Hank's head was pounding. The fire station captain squeezed his eyes closed tighter hoping to force the pain to subside, but his action only succeeded in making it hurt more. Resigned to the pain, Hank sighed, but it came out more of a moan, and soon he felt a presence by his side.

"Captain Stanley? Can you hear me?" A masculine voice Hank recognized as Dr. Kelly Brackett asked.

Hank moaned again, and carefully opened his left eye a bit. Blurry, duplicate figures of the emergency room physician loomed above him. Hank tried to turn his head to get a better look at the doctor, but found he was unable to. He noticed also he was unable to lift his arms, and realized grumpily he was still strapped to a backboard, and the hard, wooden surface was adding to his discomfort.

"I hear ya, doc," Hank croaked, closing the eye once again.

"That's good," Dr. Brackett said, with a slight laugh in his voice. "How do you feel?"

"Like I've been hit by a truck," Hank replied, and was quite certain he didn't appreciate the snicker that came from the doctor. Some people might say that as a joke, but Hank wasn't kidding. He really did feel like he'd been hit by a truck.

"Well, you're not too far off," Dr. Brackett said. "It was a Volkswagen Bus, apparently, full of marijuana-smoking hippies, according to what Johnny told us on the biophone. They ran through the red light and broad sided you. Do you remember any of that?"

Hank frowned, concentrating on bringing up memories though the fog and pain in his head. He saw Tori's face again. She was speaking to him, but he couldn't hear what she was saying.

"Tori," Hank said.

"Is just fine, Hank," Dr. Brackett said, concerned that Hank might have though his wife was in the accident with him. "She's been notified and is on her way here to see you."

"Last thing I remember is Tori . . . talking to me . . . can't remember what she said. Are the people from the bus okay?"

"Yeah. Johnny said they didn't appear to be injured, just flying higher than kites, I believe is how he described it, and they were being taken into custody."

Hank winced as a sharp pain shot through his brain.

"Headache?" The doctor asked as though he already knew the answer.

Hank tried to nod his head, but unable to, due to still be strapped to the hard board, managed to whisper, "Yes."

"Well, that's to be expected with a concussion," Kel said. "Do you know what day it is?"

Hank sighed, "Tuesday? I . . . I think, it's a workday. I know that. I was going to work."

Kelly nodded. "Yes, that right. Very good."

Hank's vision was clearer, now, and he opened both eyes, blinking at the glare of the overhead light. Kel quickly moved the large observation light out of the way, and replaced it with the smaller beam from his pen light in first one eye then the other. Hank moaned as the light pierced through his eyes into his brain like an ice pick, helplessly unable to move. He could barely flinch, and when he did so, other parts of his body hurt also.

"Sorry, Hank, but I have to check your pupil reaction," Kel apologized.

"I know, but it doesn't make it any less painful. Any chance of getting something for this? All of this?"

Kel's lip twitched in a sympathetic half-grin. "Not just yet, Hank. I'm positive you just have a moderate concussion, but I'd really like to have Joe Early take a look at you. He's busy with another head trauma case right now, so it might be a little while. Sorry."

Hank sighed again. "Well, can I at least get off this board?"

"Shouldn't be too much longer, Hank," Kel told him. "I've noticed you moving your hands and feet okay, but I'd like to see the films to be completely sure there's no spinal trauma before I take you off the board."

"Okay, doc, whatever you say. So, we've covered my head, but what about the rest of me. Everything hurts."

"Well, that's because you've got a lot of broken bones and bruises along your left side."

"Oh, goodie."

Kel snickered at the captain's sarcastic remark, then went down the list of broken bones and bruises with the man. The patient moaned as each injury was detailed, more out of annoyance than pain. _It'll be months before I'm recovered enough to go back to work! Months!_

The door opened and Dr. Brackett went to look at the x-rays Dixie brought in. Hank dozed a bit, trying to ignore the pain, and had nearly fallen asleep when Dr. Brackett returned to his side.

"Hank?"

"Yeah?"

"Your x-rays look good," the doctor said with a smile. "Except for all those broken bones, of course."

"Of course."

"Your neck and back look good, though, and they were major concerns for me. Your skull looks okay, too, but like I said before . . ."

"Yeah, Dr. Early."

"Yeah, Dr. Early," Kel repeated.

"Well, the good news is, we can get you off this board, so you'll be a little more comfortable."

"Great, thanks!"

Dr. Brackett and Dixie worked together and soon, Hank was dressed in a hospital gown, and settled onto the slightly more comfortable exam table, a blanket pulled up to his waist.

"Is that better?" Dr. Brackett asked.

"Much. Thanks," Hank replied with a smile.

Kel patted Hank's shoulder. "Good man. I'm going to go see if I can find Dr. Early, and get him in here to check you out, and also see if your wife is here yet. Why don't you get some rest. I'll bring one or both of them back with me."

Hank closed his eyes and smiled at the thought of seeing Tori again. He heard the door quietly swoosh open and shut as the doctor exited the room, and Hank drifted in the lull between sleep and wakefulness.

Tori drove quickly but carefully through the late morning streets, passing without incident through the intersection her husband had attempted to cross just a couple hours earlier. She was so intent on reaching her husband's side, she didn't notice the tow truck hauling the crunched and creaking Beater down the side street.

Finally, Tori arrived at Rampart General Hospital. She'd been here once before, to visit Hank's junior paramedic, Johnny Gage, after the young man had contracted a deadly virus, and lay near death. Luckily an antidote had been found which saved Johnny along with the highly respected emergency room physician, Dr. Kelly Brackett, who had also fallen ill.

Sadly, another paramedic perished from the virus, and Tori remembered attending the young man's funeral with her husband. Hank had found it hard to be very mournful of a man he barely knew when one of his own men just barely survived the disease. He'd wept when they returned to their home afterwards, more out of guilt than sadness.

"I know I should be sad for this young man, his widow, and his children," Hank had said. "But I'm just so relieved it's wasn't John! Just so damn glad it wasn't John! I feel so terrible!"

Tori had held him as he cried, telling him it was okay to feel the way he did. It was natural, normal. It was hard to mourn one man when you were celebrating the recovery of another whom you knew better.

As she walked into the emergency ward, Tori's blood suddenly froze. She hadn't gotten the details of the accident which injured her husband from Captain Hookraider, and didn't know who else was injured. Was the entire engine crew here? Johnny and his partner Roy? Why didn't one of them call her instead of this _other_ captain?

Tori had recognized the man's name when he introduced himself over the phone, and knew what Hank's men thought of Captain Hookraider. Hank told her he had overheard the men whispering in the shadows about the captain who would be taking over when he took his vacation last year. The other captain's reputation almost make Hank feel guilty for even taking the holiday, but Tori insisted he take a break.

"I know, I know," Hank had sighed. "and I promised I'd take you to my old stomping grounds up in Idaho, but . . ."

"But nothing," Tori had countered. "Hank, I know this Hookraider fellow is picky and strict, but look at it this way: if he's as difficult to work with as you say he is, just think of how much more your men will appreciate you when you get back!"

As usual, Tori's logic had won Hank over, and they'd gone on their vacation. They had a wonderful time, and Hank didn't once worry about his crew. And, yes, he had been greatly appreciated when he returned.

Turning a corner, Tori spotted Hank's crew huddled by the nurse's station. A wave of relief washed over her as she mentally checked off each man's name: _There's Johnny and Roy, thank God! And that tall man is Mike Stoker, beside him is Marco Lopez, and next to him is . . . is . . . Is that Chet Kelly? What's with the mustache?_

Mike spotted Tori, and nudged Captain Hookraider. "Cap's wife is here," he whispered.

Hook forced himself to stand up straight, and make eye contact with the petite, red haired woman at the end of the hall. He thought she looked a bit young to be Hank Stanley's wife, but he trusted Stoker, and took his word for it. Although he'd known Hank Stanley for many years, Hook had never had the opportunity to meet Mrs. Stanley. He approached her, and held out his hand.

"Mrs. Stanley?" He enquired. "I'm Captain Hookraider."

"Pleased to meet you."

The rest of Hank's crewmen greeted their boss' wife, and Roy snuck off quietly saying, "I'm going to find Brackett."

Hook steered Tori towards a chair, and sat down next to her.

"The doctor will be out here momentarily to speak with you, ma'am," Hook said. "But, let me assure you, he already spoke to us, and indicated that Hank will likely make a full and complete recovery."

"Well, that's certainly a relief," Tori admitted. "But, I'm still confused as to what happened? Hank was at work. How could he have been in a car accident?"

"Actually, ma'am, he was in the accident on his way to work. He never arrived at the station before we were called out to the scene. I never in my wildest dreams imagined that accident involved Hank!"

"What happened?" Tori asked.

"According to the police officer I spoke to, " Hook began, but never finished his sentence, when Roy returned with Dr. Brackett in tow. Tori and Hook stood to meet him.

"Mrs. Stanley, I'm Dr. Brackett, but I believe we've met before." The doctor stuck his hand out to Tori.

"Yes, we have," Tori said, shaking Dr. Brackett's hand, smiling. "It's a pleasure to see you again. How's my husband?"

Dr. Brackett smiled, and indicated the woman take a seat. Captain Hookraider stepped aside to give them room.

"Hank is doing very well. He was unconscious when the fire department arrived at the scene of the accident, but had regained consciousness and was speaking coherently to the paramedics before being transported here. He's been conscious and coherent here with me as well, but he has suffered a concussion. While I'm confident there's no reason to worry, I'm having a specialist, Dr. Early take a look at him, but as I said, I don't foresee any problems there. He's doing very well."

Tori breathed a sigh of relief. "Oh, I feel so much better now!"

"Well, that's not all," Dr. Brackett continued.

"There's more?"

"Yes. You see, the impact was on the driver's side, so Hank suffered several broken bones along the left side of his body. He's pretty uncomfortable right now, but I don't want to give him any painkillers until Dr. Early has examined him."

"Can I see him? Just for a minute?" Tori asked.

Dr. Brackett smiled. "Of course," he said. "Right this way."

When he heard the door swooshing open again, Hank, finally able to turn his head after being removed from the torture device known as a backboard, saw his wife peek her head in. 

He smiled, instantly lifting a weight of worry off her shoulders, and she smiled back, stepping into the room. Tori closed the space between them in a few steps, and grasped her husband's outstretched hand.

"Hank!" Tori bit her lower lip as the tears she'd told herself she wouldn't shed filled her eyes and threatened to spill over.

"I'm okay, Tori," Hank said, squeezing his wife's hand. It was awkward and slightly painful to reach across his battered body to touch her with his uninjured hand, but Hank didn't mind. Seeing his wife's face, feeling her hand in his, was all that mattered right now.

Of course, some painkiller would be nice, too, but Hank knew they were still waiting to see Dr. Early to be absolutely certain there was no problem. Hank was certain he was fine, but the doctors were stubborn, and the Captain began to have some sympathy for his young paramedic, Johnny, who often complained about being unnecessarily detained in the Emergency Room after being only mildly injured on the job. Still, Hank mused, they're just being careful. Covering all the bases. Doing their job. Hank sighed, and Tori squeezed his hand.

"Are you sure you're okay, Hank?" She asked.

"Yes, I'll be fine," he answered. "I've broken my arm, here," he continued pointing with his index finger. "I've got a couple cracked rips, leg's broken down there, and my knee's messed up a bit, but other than that . . ."

"What about your head?" Tori asked, lightly touching the clean white bandage. Dr. Brackett had already gone over the list of Hanks' injuries with her, and the most serious one was the head injury that had rendered Hank unconscious for some time.

"It's okay, I'm sure," Hank said, smiling. "It hurts, sure, but _every_thing hurts right now. They've X-rayed it, and as soon as Dr. Early gets a chance to look at them and me, I'm sure I'll get a clean bill of health."

_And some painkiller, _Hank thought to himself.

Tori regarded him skeptically, and made a rude snorting noise through her nose. _Still trying to be all brave and macho,_ Tori thought.

Hank smiled weakly. Tori knew him too well.

The door to Hank's room opened to admit Drs. Early and Brackett. Dr. Early headed over to view the films and confer with Dr. Brackett. Then he came over and physically examined the patient. When he was finished he smiled, and Hank sighed with relief before Dr. Early could even open his mouth to speak.

"Well, as you've guessed, Hank, the X-rays came out fine. There are no skull fractures, and the swelling only seems to be moderate," the doctor said.

"Thanks, Doc," Hank said. He may have believed he was fine, but hearing it from the expert made him feel much better. He felt a squeeze on his hand, and looked up at his wife, her eyes glistening.

"See? I'm fine, Tor," he said. "I'm gonna be okay."

"I know," she replied.

"Well, we'll leave you two alone," Dr. Brackett said, and followed Dr. Early out of the exam room. Before stepping out of the room, the doctor turned back to the couple. "I'll send a nurse in with some painkiller for you right away, Hank. We'll give you two a few minutes, then we'll head up to get those breaks set and casted, okay?"

"Okay, Doc, thanks."

Dr. Brackett watched the couple a moment longer before quietly exiting the room.

When they were alone, the silence hung between Hank and Tori for a few moments as each were lost in their own thoughts. Finally, Tori spoke. "So, I guess everything's going to be okay."

"Yeah," her husband replied. "I told you it would. I guess I'm gonna be home for a while, huh? These casts will have me laid up for a few weeks at least. I'll try to stay out of your way." Hank indicated his still-splinted left arm and leg, and chuckled, trying to lighten the mood. When he looked up, however, Tori was silently crying.

"C'mon, honey, the joke was bad, but it wasn't _that_ bad!"

Tori tried to cover up the sob, but couldn't, and she was soon weeping openly.

"You know," she said when the tears finally stopped flowing, and she'd caught her breath. "I always knew the call would come one day. I just never expected you'd be hurt on your way _to_ work. I always figured you'd be burned, or crushed, or _some_thing equally horrible. Oh, I'm so sorry, Hank! If I hadn't . . ."

Hank saw where she was going, and shushed her. "Tori, stop it! This was not your fault!"

"But if I'd let you leave for work when you wanted to instead of . . ."

Hank shook his head and reached his fingers up to gently touch her lips, ceasing their movement. "It wouldn't have made any difference. Things just happen, Tor, and for whatever reason, today was my day to get hurt."

Tori nodded, sniffling.

"Besides," Hank continued. "A man couldn't ask for a better send off than the one you gave me this morning!"

Tori ducked her head a bit, blushing. A small smile formed on her face, and Hank was relieved to see it.

"So, I never really heard," Tori said. "What exactly happened?"

"Well," Hank said, settling back more comfortably onto the examination table. "According to what Dr. Brackett told me, I was broad sided by a Volkswagen bus in the middle of the intersection."

"Did you run the light?" Tori asked, shocked. "You weren't playing that game again . . ."

"Well, yes . . . I was . . . but, no, _I_ didn't run the light," Hank answered, slightly annoyed at his wife's accusation. "_They_ did!"

Tori sighed, looking away, and the two fell silent again.

"Are they alright?" Tori asked quietly.

"Yeah, they're fine," Hank replied. The disgusted tone of his voice caused Tori to look up at him questioningly. "According to what Johnny told Dr. Brackett from the scene, they were a group of hippies, high on marijuana."

"Marijuana! At eight in the morning?"

Hank shrugged his right shoulder, unable to think of anything else to say.

"I hate hippies."

The tiny, pouting voice made Hank laugh heartily, despite the discomfort, and tears squeezed out of the corner of his eyes. Tori glared at him accusingly.

"I do!" She insisted, gently wiping the moisture from her husband's face. "I hate hippies!"

"Oh, baby, you always know how to make me laugh," Hank declared when he finally stopped chuckling, and laid back, enjoying his wife's warm touch. "It wasn't that long ago you were wearing flowers in your hair, and painting peace signs on your face."

"I was a _teenager_, Hank," Tori said in her own defense. "It was a phase; I grew out of it. And, besides, I _never_ smoked marijuana!"

"I know, baby, I know."

"I hate it when you play that stop light game," Tori said suddenly.

"Tori . . ." Hank began to defend himself, but suddenly didn't know what to say. It wasn't like it was really dangerous. Only once did Hank blow a red light playing the game. _Once_. And Tori would never let him forget that one time. Well, it had been scary, Hank had to admit. He had almost gotten them killed. But, that was a long time ago, and even though Hank pushed it as far as he could, he always stopped if the light didn't change in time. Always.

"No, Hank! I don't like it! I don't understand why you have to do that. Why not just stop at the red light? Red means stop, Hank!"

"I know, I know. And, I _did_ stop. Well, almost. The light turned green before I had to. Green means go, you know, Tor."

The door opened a crack, and the dark, bushy head of Johnny Gage poked in. Thankful for the interruption, Hank invited the paramedic in, and was soon surrounded by his entire crew.

"Hey, Cap, you gave us quite a scare back there," Johnny said. "We're really glad you're going to be okay," Roy added.

"Thanks, Roy, guys."

"Well, we're going to head back to the station. Apparently Captain Grey is going to come in to take over for Captain Hookraider . . ."

"Is Hook, ah, I mean Captain Hookraider still here?" Hank asked, interrupting the senior paramedic, and inadvertently using the other captain's nickname again. "I'd like to speak to him for a minute."

"Oh, yeah, sure, Cap," Roy said, trying to cover up the smile on his face. "I'll send him in when we go."

"Thanks, pal," Hank said, and looked admiringly over his crew. "Thanks to all of you. You all did a great job out there today. Even though I wasn't _there_, so to speak, to see it, I know you all did your best."

Murmurs of "Thanks, Cap" and "See you later, Cap," floated around the room, and soon the men made their way back out into the corridor. Moments later, Captain Hookraider stepped in.

"Hank," he said, then nodded to Tori. "Mrs. Stanley."

"Tori, this is Captain James P. Hookraider. Jim to his acquaintances, and Hook to his friends," Hank said by way of introduction. "Hook, this is my beautiful wife, Tori."

"Actually, Hank, we met in the hall," Tori told him. "He's the one who called me."

"Oh," Hank said. "Hey, Hook, I'm really sorry about this morning."

Hook raised his hand to silence the man, and offered his own apology. "No, _I_'m sorry."

"You have nothing to be sorry for," Hank insisted. "I'm the one who was running late."

"Well, I was really cursing you out this morning," Hook admitted. "And, I feel really bad about it now."

"Don't worry about it," Hank said with a smile. "I don't blame you one bit! I'm sure I'd be saying the same thing about Rick if he was running late! Roy tells me you've got Jack Grey from 36s coming in to take over the rest of the shift?"

"Yeah," Hook confirmed. "And, I guess I'd better get the crew back over there so they can be available. You take care now, Hank."

"See ya, Hook," Hank said.

Hook started for the door when Tori stopped him. "Captain Hookraider, I want to thank you for letting me know about my husband, and for being so kind to me here in the hospital when I arrived."

Hook bowed his head. He was still upset with himself over the dreadful way he'd handled that phone call.

"Ma'am, I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't do that very well. I've been a Captain a long time, now, and I've never had to make a call like that. I've never had to deal with a family member under these circumstances before."

Tori was visibly impressed. Hank had made several of those kinds of calls himself in just the few years he'd been at Station 51, though it was usually to just one family: the Gages.

"Well, I think you did fine," she told Captain Hookraider. "Thank you."

Hook, unable to say anything, simply nodded, and left the room.

The couple remained quiet a few moments, and Hank had been dozing lightly, when Dr. Brackett reentered the room.

"Sorry to wake you, Hank," the doctor said with a sympathetic grin. "But, we're going to go set those breaks now, then get you settled into a room. How're you doing?"

"Oh, hanging in there," Hank said, but was unable to disguise his discomfort. At the doctor's inquiring look, Hank added, "I am a little uncomfortable."

"Haven't you got your shot, yet?" Dr. Brackett asked, then frowned when both Hank and Tori said he hadn't. "Student nurses!" He spat. "I'll send a _real_ nurse in with something right now. I'll be right back."

Dr. Brackett left the room growling, and grabbed the first "real" nurse he saw walking up the hallway, ordering her to fetch and administer the painkiller. The pain medication kicked in just as Hank was wheeled off the elevator, and although it helped as his numerous breaks were set and cast, by the time he was finally settled in his hospital room, he was achy again. Tori sat with him a while, but after another dose of painkiller finally made Hank comfortable enough to fall sleep, she left.

Dixie saw Hank Stanley's wife leaning against the wall as she stepped off the elevator, and headed towards the woman.

"Tori?" Dixie inquired. "Everything okay?"

Tori turned to Dixie and smiled. "Hi, Dix! Yeah. I'm sorry I didn't get to say hello to you downstairs."

"I think you were a little preoccupied."

"That's an understatement!"

"So, how's Hank doing? I was just coming up to check on him and report back to some still-concerned firemen who've been calling every hour or so."

"He's asleep now. He just got another shot of painkiller."

Dixie peeked in through the rectangular window, and saw Hank resting comfortably in his bed.

"He'll probably be out for a while, now," the nurse said. "Why don't I buy you a cup of coffee, and we can talk?"

"That sounds great, thanks!" Tori agreed, and the two women headed for the elevator.

Once in the cafeteria, Dixie got two mugs of coffee, and set one down in front of Tori, before taking a seat opposite her. The two women sat silently sipping their coffee for a few moments before Dixie spoke.

"How are you holding up?"

"Not too bad," Tori replied with a smile. "Much better now that I know Hank's going to be okay."

Dixie smiled, too. "Yeah, I imagine that's quite a relief."

"Yeah, it is," Tori said, her smile fading as she lifted her mug for a drink.

"But?" Dixie asked.

"But, what?"

"But, your expression tells me you're still upset about something," Dixie said. "What is it?"

Tori sighed. "It's silly, really. You see, I made Hank late for work this morning. He usually goes much earlier, but today I . . . well, I wanted . . . no I _needed_ to . . . to . . . be with . . ."

Dixie raised her hand to silence the woman still struggling to explain why her husband was running late that morning. The nurse had a pretty good idea what it was. Tori blushed furiously, and the two women giggled and sipped their coffees.

"Thing is, I just feel so guilty," Tori began.

"Oh, now you just stop that right now!" Dixie scolded. "What happened this morning was not your fault!"

"Hank said the same thing," Tori sighed.

"And, he's right! You had no way of knowing those people would be driving recklessly around the city while smoking marijuana!"

"I know, but I can't help it," Tori said. "I just keep thinking if I had just let Hank go to work when he wanted to, and just kept a lid on my . . . my. . . _needs_, everything would've been okay."

"Not necessarily," Dixie reasoned. "It just would've been someone else. Maybe someone who was not as lucky as Hank: somebody's grandmother, or a woman with a carload of small children. Hank was badly hurt, yes, and will be recovering for some time to come, but he's young and strong, and otherwise healthy, and he will make a complete recovery. The two of you will be at it like rabbits again in no time!"

Tori choked on her coffee at Dixie's last words, and the nurse smiled serenely at her.

When she recovered, Tori said, "I know you're right, Dix. About it not being my fault, that is. Oh, and probably the other thing, too!"

The women giggled together, and Dixie steered the conversation towards more mundane subjects like their favourite soap operas and the previous week's Bunko game while they drank their coffee. Too soon, Dixie was called away on an emergency, and Tori was left alone. She finished her coffee, placed the empty mug in the plastic bin by the trash can, and headed back upstairs to sit with her husband.

As she exited the cafeteria heading towards the elevators, Tori paused by the hospital gift shop. She peered through the window for a moment, then went inside to look around. She walked past the stuffed animals and other toys, the ceramic statuettes of angels and saints, and the selection of carved stone paperweights, but nothing really appealed to her. Stopping in front of the small selection of greeting cards, Tori ran her hands over the cards, occasionally picking one up, and reading it. There were plenty of mushy, sentimental cards, and goofy, humerous cards, but nothing that really jumped out at her. Sighing, Tori picked up the last card at the end of the bottom row, and flipped it open. Her jaw dropped, and she turned the card over to see the picture on the front. Laughing out loud, Tori grabbed the envelope that went with the card, and headed towards the cashier's counter.

It was nighttime when Hank awoke. The dim glow of the streetlights in the parking lot outside the window was the only illumination. He looked around at the ghostly white shapes in the room and remembered he was in the hospital. He tried to shift his position, but stopped suddenly when all his injuries made themselves known. Moaning, he laid back, and wondered when he'd get another shot of painkiller.

He turned his head slowly to the right, and noticed the chair his wife had spent most of the day in was empty. He vaguely remembered her saying she was going to go home for a while, and would be back the next day. A brightly coloured envelope sitting on the table beside his bed caught his eye, and Hank reached out with his uninjured right hand to take it. Tori had left the envelope unsealed so Hank could open it easily without help, but sliding the card out one-handed still posed a challenge. Finally, the card came out, and Hank fumbled around with it a moment before finally getting it opened. He held it up so the light from the streetlamp shone on the inside of the card, and read the inscription.

First he smiled, then he chuckled, and finally he nearly choked on his own saliva as he read the poem on the inside of the card, and his wife's additional writing below it. Flipping the cover of the card over with his thumb, he saw the picture on the front of the card and laughed out loud. He was still giggling and wiping the tears from the corners of his eyes when the night nurse came in.

"Mr. Stanley? Are you okay?" She asked, concern in her voice. "I heard noise from this room . . ."

Hank held up his good hand, still clutching the card, to silence the nurse.

"I'm fine," he said sighing heavily. "It's just this card my wife gave me . . . it's . . .well . . ."

He struggled to find the right word, and ended up in fits of giggles again, shaking his head. The contagious effect of the man's laughter caused the nurse to smile, and she struggled to keep from laughing herself.

"Well, so long as you're okay, sir, I'll leave you," the nurse replied, then added a teasing tone to her voice. "But, please could you keep it down? This _is_ a hospital, you know!"

"Oh, yeah, sorry," Hank said contritely, but the smile never left his face.

The nurse headed back down the hall, and Hank once again looked at the card his loving, thoughtful wife had left for him.

"Oh, Tori," he said quietly to the darkness. "You do know how to make me laugh!"

The End


End file.
